Aborted Plans
by luvscharlie
Summary: Charlie's night does not go as planned. Bill-Charlie-Victoire Gen!Fic


_Aborted Plans_ by Luvscharlie

"Any word on Fleur's dad then?" Charlie asked, as he stood in the bathroom of Shell Cottage shaving with _his_ razor.

Bill, with Victoire on his shoulder stood in the doorway, as his brother readied himself for a round of pub crawling. _Ah, the good old days._ "Fleur sent an owl today. The Healers think he'll make a full recovery. Gave them quite a scare though."

Charlie wiped the remaining cream from his face on a towel and said, "Must have for her to leave the wee one with you and run off to France." He chucked Victoire under the chin and stepped around them. "Or perhaps she finally came to her senses and realised how far beneath herself she married."

"Aren't you the funny one?" Bill said sarcastically at his brother's retreating back. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Raiding your closet, of course. Fleur always says I need someone to dress me, and since she does such a smashing good job of making you presentable…"

"You thought you'd just wear my clothes," Bill finished. "So who are you trying to impress, little brother?"

Charlie grinned back at him, but offered no response as he took Bill's belt from the closet. "That'll do nicely. So what are you and the little one doing tonight?"

"I don't know," Bill said. "She's been really restless all day." About that time Victoire let out one sneeze, then another.

Charlie came forward and touched her forehead. "She feels really hot, Bill. Man, I think she's getting sick."

"Really?" Bill asked. "You think?"

"Well, I'm certainly no expert, but even I can tell when someone has a fever."

Victoire put her head down on Bill's shoulder and he noted that her eyes had a glassy appearance and her nose had started to run. He'd never kept her when she was sick before. That was Fleur's area of expertise. He began to pace worriedly. Charlie started for the Floo, but Bill blocked his way. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Out. Remember?"

"You can't leave me here with her alone, Charlie. She's sick."

"Floo Mum. You know she'll come right over. Mum'll be beside herself for the chance to mother someone and you know it."

Bill drew his wand and pointed it at Charlie. "I'll never live it down if I have to call Mum to come over here because Victoire has a cold. Fleur'll have my head for not being a better father and not being more active, and for any other perceived transgression she can possibly think me guilty of as soon as Mum tells her she had to come over here in her absence because I couldn't care for my own child."

Charlie sniggered at Bill's drawn wand. "Oh, like you'd hex your favourite brother." He gave a snort of disbelief and shook his head.

Bill gave his wand a flick when Charlie took another step towards the fireplace. "Don't test me, Charlie. My choices are hex you or face my wife's wrath. The choice is not a difficult one from where I'm standing."

"You're bloody serious, aren't you?" Charlie asked reaching for his own wand.

Bill had disarmed him with a swish of his wand before Charlie's hand was even halfway to his pocket. Curse-breaking required quick reflexes, and Bill was one of the best.

"Fuck it all, Bill. Give me back my wand."

"No can do, little brother. I need your help." Bill walked forward and forced Victoire into a perplexed Charlie's arms. Charlie was just starting a new round of protests when Victoire vomited all over his shirt.

"Bloody fucking hell!" Charlie set Victoire down on the floor and began to strip off his shirt, then shot bill a venom-filled glare. "You owe me, Bill. You owe me so big. I've been working on charming that bird at the pub and tonight was _the_ night."

"I think you'll survive a night without getting laid." Bill's tone was sarcastic.

Victoire spilled the remainder of her stomach contents on Charlie's new boots.

"Your wife is going to make a lovely widow," Charlie said, jerking off his boots and launching one of them at Bill's head.

~Fin.~

_A/N: Advent Drabble 17/31 with a prompt of Cold_


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